Author's Note
by caffeineaddict13
Summary: She does not know that it took all of his strength not to rewrite the ending of their story so that they ended happy. Literati.


**A/N:** Time is most likely about a year or two after Rory graduates college.

**Disclaimer:** Um...I'm working on it?

When he brings the book to his editor, he promises to look over it, partly because he knows that Jess has his mind set and that he has talent, and partly because the look in his eyes when he gives him the book is more than he can handle—clearly, this story was not a fake. Clearly, this story was something that he knew.

But he is called in to see his editor shortly thereafter, and he shakes his head when he hands him back the book. "It's been done before," he says. He finds this ironic. Because how can his own life been _done before_?

She does not know that he wrote twenty-five different dedications in his book to her, because the book was never published, and after all he couldn't even decide on one in the end. So he wrote _For her_ and hoped that she would understand. But the book was never published.

She does not know that it took all of his strength not to re-write the ending of _their story_ so that they ended happy. She does not know that he wrote a different book, and in this one he skips all the bad parts and just ends it with her agreeing to come with him, that day in her dorm room when he told her how he felt (for once) and she said what she meant (for once) even though he knew that she was lying (for once).

She does not know that his editor liked the story better when he actually included everything, including his own thoughts and feelings, which he found pretty pathetic because if he had just told her these things when they were together maybe (maybe) he wouldn't be writing this book because some of it never would have happened.

She does not know that the book is full of long, seemingly endless sentences because it is easier to get your thoughts out when you write them all at once. This was his logic in telling her he loved her. She does not know this.

She does not know that his editor called him in again, after he has handed in his re-written book, this time with _their story_ and tells him that even though "it has been done before, there is something about it that makes it real." He smirks. "I wonder what that could have been," he says.

She does not know that, although he does not include a dedication in this one, because he decides that he would rather _she not know_ that he did this all for her (all because of her). But he does include the exact feeling of her kisses and the exact scent of her shampoo and the exact reason why he ran away. He hopes that this is enough. He does not know.

She does not know that his story is about his first love—his only love—his all-consuming, short-but-real, never-quite-ended, now-tastes-bitter love. He does, however think that, if she reads it, she might know.

She does not know that he called her twenty-five times (the same number of times he dedicated the book to her, the same number of times he stopped the bus when he was leaving; almost getting out, the same number of times he bought plane tickets to Connecticut when he was in California, the same number of times he asked Luke about her in the past year, the same number of times he had written her a letter that month) before deciding that she did not _need_ to know.

The one thing that she does know, however, is that she is on her way over to the publishing house after reading his book, to tell him that she always knew he could do it, that he is wonderfully accomplished and fantastically different but still incredibly the same.

She does not know that when she gets there, she will forget everything she had planned to say and instead will kiss him, right there in front of everyone, and tell him that she is sorry and that she has always loved him and that (maybe), even considering everything that has happened, they can still have their happy ending.

And even though he has already finished the book, he will say yes, because it was twenty-five times since he had seen her walk through the door that he had thought about that, too.


End file.
